


Yuletide

by Uthizaar



Series: The Cycle of Theodric [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternative Werewolf Lore, Celtic Christmas, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Christmas, Darach Theo Raeken, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Druids, Healer Stiles, Healing, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Multi, No Chimeras, Polyamory, Prophecy, Slavery, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-17 14:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uthizaar/pseuds/Uthizaar
Summary: The Winter Solstice is almost upon them, and the druid Stiles goes to visit the darach Theodric to complete a ritual they haven’t done since Theodric broke with the clan. Their reforged friendship from Samhain has brought them back together, healing broken bonds and re-igniting the old flame of passion that burned between them. But the passing of the season has brought ill fortune for Theodric, and the lands around him; a dark and terrible creature feasts on men and beasts alike, and the darach needs Stiles’ magical prowess to help him track and kill the monster…





	1. Reforged Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a direct sequel to _The Colors of a Druid_ , and part of my year long seasonally updated Druid Teen Wolf story series, in which I transport the characters back to the time of the Celts. I'm trying to maintain some historical accuracy in descriptions of the characters, their names, and locations, but some licence will be taken. As Christmas is derived from Pagan traditions, specifically Celtic, there will be some familiar parts of Christmas on display in the third Chapter. I hope you enjoy reading this! The next update will be on Christmas Eve 2017 (24th of December).

“Ugh…” Korey groaned, rolling over on his bed, coughing violently and spitting out the bile that rose from his sore throat and searing lungs. “Ow.” He moaned softly, looking up as Stiles knelt beside him, the druid reaching across to feel his forehead. “Well?”

“No.”

“But, I can-argh!” Another bout of coughing interrupted his sentence and Korey sat up, not pushing Stiles away as he struggled to breathe. After the fit passed and he was laid back down, shivering under the furs and sheepskin blanket, he looked at Stiles again. “Please, I want to see Theodric too.”

“I know.” The druid frowned, fingers slipping into the herb pouch on his belt. “But you are too sick to travel, too sick even to get out of bed. You need to remain here; recover your strength and continue to see to the needs of the clan. As must we all during this season; the snows are heavy, and most paths already impassable.”

“But-”

“I won’t risk anything happening to you.” Stiles smiled kindly at him, and poured water from the clay jug next to him into a cup, rolling the vessel between his hands to warm it. Then he took the pinch of green herbs from the pouch, dropping them into the water. “I’ll make you a potion to heat your chest and stave off the wracking cough. But you need to stay in bed, and stay warm.”

“Very well.” Korey muttered, pulling the coverings over his bare chest, flexing his strong arms, muscular from working the forge. “What is it? Magic?”

“No, just a healing draft.” Stiles replied, taking a knife-tip of fine, white powder from another pouch on his belt, shook it into the cup, and began swirling it around. “When I am completing the ritual with Theodric, I will appeal to Dian Cécht, god of healing, to bless you, and give you a quick recovery.”

“Thank you.” Korey nodded gratefully and sat up when the druid gestured for him to do so, accepting the clay cup. He sipped it and pulled a face, but didn’t complain as Stiles looked expectantly at him. “I’ll drink it.”

“You had better.” The druid pointed at him sternly. “When I return in three days hence I expect to see you up and about, back in the forge, swinging a hammer and building those muscles even more!”

“Yes, Stiles.” Korey smiled when the older man gripped his bicep and squeezed the hard muscle gently. He kept taking small gulps of the foul-tasting liquid until the woollen curtain that separated his sleeping area from the main room of the roundhouse was dragged across and Liam entered. “Oh, there you are.”

“I’ve finished packing your supplies, master druid.” Liam said, looking at Stiles, and then smirking at Korey. “I was coming to find you, Korey.”

“Thank you, Liam, and you can just use my name.” He stood up, glancing between the two of them. “I know you will be craving distraction and entertainment while I am gone, and you are sick, Korey, but there is to be no joining.”

“What?”

“But, Stiles!”

“Well…” Stiles glared at them, and pointed at Liam. “ _You_ may keep him warm, and pleasure him, if he seeks it. But you must do all the work, Liam, Korey cannot exert himself until after he is fully recovered!”

“I can do that!” The young man eagerly agreed, grinning widely. He paused as a thought crossed his mind. “Just me? Or can Chief Scotti and-”

“Just you.” The druid replied firmly, gathering his thick white robe about himself. Stiles leaned over Korey once more and pressed his hand against the smooth, heated flesh of his chest. “Good, you are warming, before the sun reaches its height in the sky, you will be sweating. This is as it should be; bring him plenty of water, Liam, and I will return in three days.”

“Tell Theodric I wanted to come!”

“I will.” Stiles nodded and pushed out of the small space, leaving the two young men together. Scotti was waiting for him by the exit, arms folded across his bare chest, trousers loose and baggy as his prodigious manhood pushed out the fabric. “Chieftain.”

“Stiles, I wanted to wish good fortune on your travels.” He took Stiles’ arm and nodded. “Your supplies are prepared, the snows have stopped for now, it will still take most of the day to reach the place where the mountains meet the forest. The paths might be treacherous, or there could be werewolves hungry from the turning of the seasons. Let my warriors go with you.”

“No, Scotti.” Stiles smiled at him, shaking his head. “I will be fine, Aed will protect me, and I have power enough to defend myself, if I need to.” The druid stepped away from Scotti, and picked up the provision sack, slinging it over one shoulder, his travelling kit going over the other. Stiles accepted his stave from the chieftain and smiled again. “I will return in three days and the ritual of light and darkness will be completed; fully for the first time since Dictone was killed. It will give a strong blessing to the clan, and if the gods are willing, increase our fertility even more.”

“That is all I wished to hear!” Scotti laughed, patting Stiles on the back with one hand, while the other disappeared inside his trousers to fondle himself absently. “Take care, my friend.”

The druid nodded wordlessly, and wrapped another, heavier white cloak around himself, the hood drawn over his head, casting his face into shadow. Leaving the roundhouse behind, Stiles walked away from his clan’s settlement and through the heavy drifts of snow along the river’s edge. The water was confined to a small stream in the center, the rest of the surface glassy and frozen, though Stiles feared to attempt the crossing in case the ice broke and plunged him into the deep river.

 

“He’ll be coming today!” Theodric whispered excitedly to the re-animated skeletal mice sitting together on the mantle over the hearth. The fire blazed merrily beneath them, and the darach was forced to step over a snoring wolf cub that was sprawled in front of it. “Hmm, I thought I sent you back to the Otherworld last night.” He stared at the brightly colored animal; stripes of red and orange and yellow running over the wolf’s fur, constantly shifting and changing. Theodric shook his head and walked back to where his bed was; piles of furs and animal skins on top of the sturdy wooden frame. “I do hope Stiles doesn’t mind sharing with me as we did when we were acolytes…” He thought for a moment, a sly grin creeping over his face and his cock hardening underneath him. “Oh, we kept each other warm then too! And why am I worrying?” Theodric glanced around, but the mice were silent, nibbling on a piece of cheese. He answered his own question with a shrug. “He certainly didn’t mind at Samhain! I wonder if Korey will join him…though the winter has been harsh, perhaps it’s better that Stiles comes alone. Korey is pleasant to be with and look at, but he is a blacksmith, not a druid.” 

Theodric looked down as the wolf cub woke up, now a dazzling shade of blue, and snorted at him. “Well, I _know_ that! Blacksmiths are very important! But Stiles and I must perform the ritual of rebirth, and ensure that Belenus returns the sun to us in time for the planting of the crops. If we have some free moments for some other distractions…” He chuckled to himself and then stopped suddenly. “When was the last time I spoke to a person?”

“Woof!” The wolf barked at him.

“Yes, I suppose that younger hunter from before the snows counts.” Theodric sat down on the chair next to the fire and picked up a log to throw onto it. “Even if he was mostly moaning and crying out for more! He was a delight…mmh.” The darach paused again, and shook his head. “Stiles would think that I’ve lost my senses talking to you all. Begone!” He clapped his hands together and the mice vanished with a squeak, their unfinished cheese falling to the floor. The wolf cub gobbled the morsel up, before it too faded away, the clash of colors disappearing until Theodric was sitting alone in front of the fire. “Better,” He nodded to himself, running a hand under his robes. “But I still need time to prepare my body.”

The darach stood up, pulling his black robes up and off in one smooth movement, leaving him naked, his skin prickling as it adjusted to the hot air rolling off the fire. He turned around, offering his tanned buttocks to the flames and grinning as heat tickled his back and firm mounds of muscle. Theodric waited for a moment until the heat became unbearable, and then he wandered over to his potions rack, running his hands over the dried herbs and collected plants, clay pots filled with ointments, pastes, liquids, and oils. He nodded to himself. “I think I have it all; both for the ritual, and anything else we might find ourselves doing! I must bathe before he arrives.” Theodric muttered aloud, turning back towards the hearth and lifting the sheep-skin that the wolf had been lying on. He pulled up the wooden slats placed underneath, revealing a recessed pit with smooth clay sides, deep and wide enough for several people to fit. Theodric picked up a pair of iron tongs and carefully used them to transfer several large, red-hot rocks from the center of the fire to the bottom of the pit, smirking as the heat rose from the collected stones, washing over the front of his thighs and torso. “Ahh.”

Theodric a large wooden basin from under his bed and hurried to the door, pulling it open quickly. “Yowch! It’s cold!” The darach hastily shovelled snow into the basin with his bare hands, and turned back, breathing a sigh of relief when his naked body was bathed in heat from the fire. He dumped the snow into the pit, watching it melt, before steeling himself and dashing out to collect more snow for his bath.

 

Stiles glanced up through a break in the trees, seeing the mountain closer than before, a heavy cloud blanket covering most of it. He frowned, feeling snow falling on his face, the sky becoming paler like slightly sour milk. “It’s about to snow again.” The druid sighed, adjusting his bags, knee-deep in ice and feeling it beginning to soak through his heavy outer layer. “Enough of this.” Stiles reached into an inner pouch and withdrew a small quartz figure of a bear. “I have sufficient power...Dífhostú!” He threw the sculpture into the air and grinned as a large blue bear appeared, landing heavily into the loose snow.

“Rawrr!” 

“I know, Roscoe, it’s snow; your favorite!” Stiles laughed as the spectral bear rolled around in the snow, the large creature flopping on its back with all four paws in the air. He clicked his tongue and Roscoe got back onto his feet. “You love it, I hate it. Now, take me to Theodric.” Stiles commanded, climbing up onto the bear’s back and relaxed as they began moving through the snow, the creature gambolling along with obvious pleasure as the snow drifts rose above his flanks and around Roscoe’s shoulders.

Stiles frowned as they left the forest behind, the stone sides of the mountain rising high above him, any greenery lost in the fury of the winter snows. “ _Stad!_ ” He called out suddenly, and Roscoe stopped moving, clever eyes sweeping the ground in front of them. “Move closer. Over there.” The druid pointed, and the spectral bear padded slowly across the disturbed snow; red blotches dark and contrasting strongly against the brightness. Stiles slid off Roscoe’s back and patted his head, “Blood. It’s fresh, or perhaps a few hours old.” Stiles moved closer, grunting in disgust as he spotted the half-eaten remains of…something strewn across the ground, most of the carcass hidden under the fresh snowfall from a few minutes earlier. The flurry of snow was still drifting around him as Stiles crouched down, not caring anymore if his clothes were soaked. “Hmm, it’s not human, I don’t think so, no, there’s fur there.” He pointed at a patch and Roscoe dug around it, revealing a broken antler. “I thought so, but these tracks,” Stiles walked away from the corpse, his brow creased as he studied the prints. “Too much like an animal to be a man, and not wide enough to be a werewolf. They’re smaller than most wolves I’ve seen, but it’s closer to wolf than hound. Very strange.” He glanced back at Roscoe, hearing the bear snort, and then looked up at the mountain. “I see it, fog and snow, there’s no worse combination. Very well, we’ll continue, I can ask Theodric about this.”

 

The darach’s house was not far off, and Stiles could see the grey curl of smoke from Theodric fire, hanging in the now misty air. He urged Roscoe onwards, cresting a small rise and the bear charged down the slope through the snow with the same joyous exuberance as before. Stiles smiled to himself, patting Roscoe’ head as the spectral animal slowed, and Theodric’s roundhouse came into view. Unlike the other dwellings in his clan’s village, Stiles could see that the darach’s roundhouse was close to the stone cliffs of the mountain, and even disappeared inside it; sheer rock hugging the wattle and daub of the roundhouse walls tight. 

“Hmm, there must be a cave or something, and he built over the mouth.” The druid muttered to himself, sliding off Roscoe’s back. The spectral bear watched him for a moment before snorting and vanishing with a pop. Stiles glanced at the snow and picked up the quartz figurine of the small blue bear and whispered, “Thank you, my friend.” He moved closer to the house, the snow around it packed tight and well-travelled paths stretching between the lean-to that kept a pile of firewood dry, and the front entrance, sheltered by a hazel fence acting as a wind breaker. Stiles stopped, calling out. “Theodric?! Are you here?”

“Stiles.” The darach appeared at the entrance, clad in a long black robe, the hood pushed back from his handsome face, and his lips pulled into a grin. “I’m glad you made it, the portents are for bad weather before dusk today.”

“Yours are more reliable than mine it seems.” Stiles returned the smile and followed him inside. “I was certain that no more snow would fall for at least three days.”

“That might be true at the village.” Theodric pointed out, taking Stiles’ soaked cloak and throwing it over the rack next to the blazing fire. The planks covering the clay pit had been replaced and he gestured for Stiles to relieve himself of his bags and sit down. “You’ve been travelling since dawn?”

“A little after daybreak, yes.” Stiles pulled the two sacks over his head, placing the one with provisions on the wooden table that ran the length of the roundhouse. “Korey took ill; a chill of the chest and lungs.”

“Well, working the forge in nothing but an apron might be wonderful to look at,” Theodric smirked. “But perhaps he should care more about his health than impressing the warriors, hmm?”

“I think the warriors are plenty impressed by him.” Stiles replied, undoing the knot on top of his bag and pulling out several loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese, four hunks of salted meat, three fish, and a jar of honey. “Greetings from the clan, Theodric.”

“For me?”

“The blessings received at Samhain still echo through the Nemeton grove; the gods are pleased, Scotti is pleased, and that means we can be generous.” Stiles smiled, pushing the food towards him. “The cheese is particularly good.”

“There is a hunter from the village on the slopes of the mountain that visits frequently.” Theodric turned away from him, unsure as to why his cheeks suddenly felt hot. He pulled aside a curtain of goat hide and showed Stiles his larder. “He keeps me well stocked with meat and furs and the occasional fish.”

“Well, even a darach is still a druid.” Stiles murmured, casting his eyes over the sides of venison and wild boar hanging from wooden laths crossing the straw ceiling, rows of fresh eggs resting alongside carefully placed bags of grain and wheat. “You offer them services? Or are they afraid of you?”

“A little of both.” Theodric admitted with a shrug. “The hunter isn’t scared though, he’s...”

“Interested?”

“Good enough.” He moved back to the hearth, a crack in the stone of the mountain providing a natural chimney for the smoke to escape. “Druid or darach, Stiles, it can be a lonely life; we must take comfort wherever we can find it.”

“Agreed.” Stiles settled into the chair, sighing comfortably as the heat from the fire dried the hem of his robes and washed over his hands and face. He glanced up as Theodric offered him a goblet of mead, accepting with a nod. “Thank you.”

The darach smiled, sitting opposite him, sipping his own drink. “Any troubles on your journey, other than the weather?”

“Funny you should say that.” Stiles looked at him, a frown gently creasing his brow. “Not too far from your door there was some sort of animal attack. I know it’s winter, I know that food is scarce, but that just makes what I found more confusing.”

“The carcass wasn’t stripped clean.”

“Exactly.” He met Theodric’s eyes. “You know what I’m speaking of?”

“Some.” The darach sighed, leaning back into his chair. “There is something that has been coming down from the forests of the mountain, both day and night it comes, taking and killing man and beast alike. But never does it take all of the kill, and none of the wolves around here trespass on the remains either, even though there is meat left.”

“Werewolf?”

“I thought so, but it isn’t.” Theodric shook his head. “The tracks are odd, you saw it too?”

“I did.” Stiles held out his hand, palm upwards and flexed his fingers. “Too small for a wolf, not the right shape for a werewolf, even a female. What other creature could it be?”

“A shadow-dog?”

“No, there was no trace of the Otherworld on the deer.” He frowned, looking over Theodric’s head to see the smooth wall of rock that joined the roundhouse as part of the mountain was covered in vertical lines and crosses. “Did you carve that?”

“What?” Theodric stood, following Stiles’ gaze. “No, another darach lived here before me; a werewolf killed him, and I found this place, surrounded by a thicket of hazel and birch. It is his collected knowledge; in fact, it stretches around into the caves behind the fireplace.”

“Show me.”

“Why?” 

“There has to be some spell or potion that will reveal the creature and what fury drives it.” Stiles explained, looking away from him and into the glowing embers of the fire. “It may not come from the Otherworld, but there is something _wrong_ with a beast that does not eat its prey in the depths of winter.”


	2. The Curse of the Sand Wolf

“The fire is banked up.” Theodric glanced at Stiles, the druid nodding at him as he pulled the heavy white cloak around his shoulders. “It should keep until dusk, which admittedly, is not long.”

“If the gods favor us, we will have returned long before that.” Stiles mumbled, gesturing for him to follow. “You have the herbs and the blood?”

“I do.” Theodric patted the pouches and vial by his side, coming to stand next to him. “Are you sure this will be the right spell? The last time I used it to lure out an abhartach, I-”

“Why in the name of Aed would you be doing that?” Stiles cut across him with a groan. “Don’t you know they suck the blood out of anything that moves, including the one who raises them from the grave?!”

“I needed the sword that was used to kill him.” Theodric replied, giving the druid a gentle push out the door and into the heavy snow. “My point is that this particular luring spell isn’t reliable.”

“I can tell you something else that isn’t reliable.” Stiles muttered, catching a dark look from Theodric. “In any case, this creature feeds on blood and flesh, the spell will guide us to the monster, and we can deal with it the usual way.” He smirked, lifting his cloak to show the darach the golden scythe hanging from his belt. 

“Agreed.” Theodric returned his grin. “Shall we?” They began trudging through the snow, now waist-high after heavy falls in the night. “I haven’t seen a winter this bad since we were children.”

“The portents predicted it.” Stiles replied, using his stave to climb out of a particularly deep drift. “We were lucky in that the harvest was bountiful, and we’ve only lost one sheep to wolves since the turning of the sun.”

“Lucky indeed.” Theodric nodded, pointing towards a clearing as the snow swirled around them. Stiles was nearly invisible in the blizzard, but the darach was easier to keep track of, his black clothing stark against the brilliant whiteness of their surroundings. “Did you hear them last night?”

“Once, when I came up to get more candles.” Stiles replied over his shoulder, grunting in irritation at the water soaking into his cloak. “Were they only wolves? Or do you get werewolves in these parts?”

“Sometimes, though the ones that have come leave quickly.”

“Oh?”

“Feral werewolves can be very superstitious.” Theodric joined him at the edge of the clearing and offered Stiles his flask of mead. “I usually hang wards at the entrances to the forest and along the path that would take them close to the mountain village.”

“Really?” Stiles finished drinking and arched a brow. “Why would a darach care…ah, the young hunter?”

Theodric flushed and grabbed the flask back from him, pointing quickly to the center of the clearing, “Over here. This is the closest I have found remains to my house, we can start searching from there.”

“Hmm.” Stiles nodded and Theodric could see him grinning. 

“Let’s just go.”

 

“Huh.” Stiles knelt in the snow, ignoring the ice penetrating his clothes, and brushed aside the top layer of white. “Blood. Tacky.”

“A stag.” Theodric reached in and pulled the head clean off by the large antlers, before groaning in disgust and dropping it. “The creature killed him, but didn’t take the carcass, or even eat more than a few mouthfuls.”

“There’s something else.” Stiles waved his hands in circles slowly over the half-chewed body. “I feel an energy…dark, druidic, but corrupted.” He glanced at Theodric, “Tell me about the darach who lived here before you.”

“A werewolf killed him.”

“Who?”

“I do not know his name, human or wolf.” Theodric stretched out his hand to help Stiles stand. “He was large, his presence in the roundhouse was angry, aggressive, almost wild with rage. And the darach, he had odd possessions; a sacrificial knife stained in blood, the makings of a file and carving tool, uh.”

“For runic protection, or for an enchantment?” Stiles brushed snow off the rest of the stag and frowned at the bite marks across the torn flesh. “This creature has a full snout, you see?”

“I do, definitely not a werewolf, and ordinary wolves would drag it away after eating their fill.” He pointed at a long, ragged scratch down the animal’s flank. “Hmm, odd, I see a claw within. But, um, to answer your first question, I don’t know. I always assumed that it was for recording his knowledge on the stone walls. There are…” Theodric stopped speaking, looking around nervously. He gripped the back of Stiles’ cloak and pulled the man up beside him.

“What is it?” Stiles began to speak and then froze as he saw the grey fur and glinting eyes watching them from across the clearing. “Wolves?”

“They’re hungry.” The darach whispered as the pack gathered around them. He pushed Stiles backwards and looked over his shoulder to ensure they had been left a way out. “The winter has been hard, but Donn protects his own.”

“Glory to Cernunnos.” Stiles bowed his head carefully to the alpha wolf, watching it come closer, standing over the kill until he and Theodric had pulled all the way back to treeline. He blinked, straightening up when the other wolves came out from the forest, gathering around the stag. “Did you get what you needed to cast the spell?”

“I did.” Theodric nodded, gesturing for them to leave. “But not here, we should move further away.”

 

Stiles watched as Theodric mixed the shredded roots of burdock, nettle, and comfrey with the blood of a wolfhound into a small golden goblet and grimaced as the darach’s foul magic wrinkled his nose. But the druid continued to look on until the contents were bubbling and frothing with an unnatural steam rising from the top. “Ugh.”

“Hold your nose then.” Theodric snapped at him. “This will work.”

“Very well.” He took a careful breath, eyes narrowing when Theodric tossed in the claw he had taken from the stag’s flesh into the goblet, seeing the red liquid spit and sizzle.

“Mighty Donn, grant your loyal servant your power and show us the way of the monster that has been stalking these wilds.” Theodric paused and looked expectantly at Stiles, glaring at him until the druid sighed and held his hands over the goblet too.

“Oh, gentle Cernunnos, protector of those who live in the forest, guide our steps towards that which has befouled our lands with its presence.” Stiles waited for Theodric to place one of his hands on top of his, and together they said the final words as one.

“ _Treoir dúinn!_ ”

The goblet shattered, and the crimson liquid fell onto the snow in a forked pattern, the blood trailing away in one direction, back to the mountain. Theodric whispered a final prayer of thanks to the two gods, while Stiles frowned and stared at the stained snow. “Let’s not waste any time, the blood will only be able to guide us until it hardens.”

“I know, that last time I tried this, the abhartach burst from the ground and drank it all up.” Theodric explained, following the blood trail and missing Stiles’ arched brows. “I had found him of course, but-”

“Did you run away?”

“Of course I ran away!” The darach shook his head as though that would be obvious thing to do. “It had only gotten half out of the ground, and there wasn’t enough blood to sustain it, but otherwise…” He trailed off, pointing to the left as they moved through deep falls of undisturbed snow. “Uh.”

“I feel it too.” Stiles whispered. “Do you come this way often?”

“No, there’s nothing for me here; no fish in the river, no fruit or berries, the animals avoid the area.” Theodric held his gaze, hands held out, fingers splayed. “There is dark magic here, it feels as though the Otherworld bleeds into the air around us. This way.” 

They walked in silence, crunching through the snow and changing direction when the blood flowed and split. Even the birds had stopped singing their soft winter tune, the occasional raven or crow sitting motionlessly in the dead branches of the trees, watching their passage. Stiles reached out to grab Theodric’s shoulder, stopping him. “I think we’re here.”

“Ah.” He nodded at a cave in the mountainside, a darkened maw that looked as though it had been gouged into the rock and scooped out with bare hands. “The source of the dark magic is over there.”

“We should go in.” Stiles muttered, not moving.

“Very well.” Theodric reached down and took his hand, feeling the druid tensing for a moment before allowing himself to be guided towards the cave. They peered into the gloom and Stiles whispered something that Theodric couldn’t hear, but a tendril of yellow light floated out of his hand and danced around inside the cave as they lingered at its entrance. He frowned, seeing a fire pit and charcoal embers, the stone of the cave walls was stained red and black, a thick, vicious substance dripping from the rocks onto the sandy floor. Theodric parted his lips to speak, but his attention was pulled up by the glow of runes above the mouth of the cave. “Uh oh.”

“What is it?” Stiles seemed to recover from his nervousness and pulled his hand from Theodric’s grasp. He followed the darach’s line of sight, nodding grimly at dire warning stretched across the rock face. “You know that twisted tongue better than I. What does it say exactly?”

“Um,” Theodric swallowed hard and pointed out the different symbols as he spoke. “Here lies…the wolf of the sands, cursed and forgotten. Your bones will stay buried for eternity…hmm, your pelt consumed by flame. These rocks are cursed by your blood!” 

“So, a binding?”

“Yes, an evil spirit was trapped here.” He looked at Stiles. “These marks match what is on my walls, the same druid-”

“Darach.”

“Fine, darach,” Theodric glared and grunted. “The same one that bound the spirit here is the one who lived in roundhouse. Maybe the werewolf that killed him was the spirit’s mate or part of their pack?”

“Perhaps.” Stiles nodded. “Bind this…sand wolf, and then die at the hands of a werewolf. I feel like we’re missing something. We must go in.”

 

Stiles ventured carefully inside, “Whatever that spirit was, I can feel the tethers from the Otherworld that held it here, but it is gone now.”

“Do you have a strong enough connection for us to see what happened?”

“I think so. Wait.” Stiles closed his eyes, feeling the ebb and flow of the Otherworld around him. He reached out with both hands as though parting a veil and heard Theodric’s muttered cry of surprise. When Stiles blinked his eyes open, he could see the ghostly form of a woman, older, a fearsome expression, and glinting blue eyes that glowed unnaturally. “What we are seeing is a reflection, like looking at yourself from the river’s edge, and like all such reflections, it may be distorted.”

“I understand.” 

“This woman in front of us…huh.” They watched as she got down on all fours and shifted into a wolf-like creature; large ears, a bushy tail, smaller and leaner than the animal they were familiar with. The two young men continued to observe the creature, seeing it enter and leave the cave over and over, each time her muzzle becoming more and more bloodstained. The final time she entered the cave, the shapeshifter dragged the body of a child with her; a boy, bitten and bleeding, injuries so horrific Stiles waved his hand and manipulated the memory, so the body was obscured from them. The images faded, and he turned to Theodric. “A monster, though not a werewolf, at least not one I have seen before.”

“The feral werewolves cannot turn fully back to people. And those who live among us cannot fully turn into wolves.” Theodric muttered, “Yet she can do both; the sand wolf. But what happened next?”

“I can guess, for even darachs must confront the evil of nature when it takes the life of an innocent.” Stiles made a strange gesture and they both recoiled as the monster, now returned to her female form, was stabbed through the chest with a golden sickle. She fell to the floor of the cave, flickering between human and sand wolf, before the darach grabbed her fur coat and skinned it roughly. Stiles turned away, but Theodric kept looking, nodding.

“The stone here is covered with her blood, we must be standing on her bones, or perhaps,” He knelt next to the fire pit and smiled grimly. “The supports are made from her bones.”

“But where is her pelt?” Stiles let the images fade, frowning as his skin tingled with unused power. “There’s more. Watch.”

An image of a dark-haired young woman stumbled into cave, sobbing, the sky outside darkening as wind howled and rain lashed at her back. Her brown eyes swept the interior and Stiles pursed his lips on seeing her hobbled feet and bound hands.

“A slave.”

“Must be the clan from the north.” Theodric muttered, glancing at him. “They keep prisoners taken in raids as slaves. I can see the restraints, she obviously got free.”

“And came to the one place she shouldn’t have.” Stiles replied heavily, stepping aside as the ghostly figure staggered past him, collapsing beside the fire pit. She wrapped herself in the blood-streaked pelt that lay next to it. “The spirit awoke, and claimed the girl for as her living flesh, freeing herself from the darach’s bonds and returning as the sand wolf once more. It must have happened just after Samhain when that storm raged across the land.”

“She is not at fault, Stiles.”

“I know.” He nodded. “We must free her and send the spirit to the Otherworld.”

“Or,” Theodric grinned slyly. “We could bind the spirit here, to an object, and use her power for our own purposes.”

“And what purpose do you have for such an evil monster?” The druid clenched his fist and the ethereal images vanished. “Harnessing a power like that could only be for something terrible.”

“Defensive purposes, of course.” The darach looked him in the eye, one hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “You must have seen the portents, same as I have. War is coming, Stiles; the clans are becoming aggressive again.”

“Then we hide, as we have always done.”

“Scotti’s clan has grown, and his legend too.” Theodric smirked suddenly, shrugging. “You have many passing travellers and traders, and each leave with a grander tale of his fertility and carnal prowess! He is attracting attention, you will need a powerful source of magic to draw on to conceal your village.”

“That spirit is corruption.” Stiles replied after a moment of silent staring. “You and I would need to use it together, balance it…if war comes.”

“Good.” He grinned and pulled out a stone from his pocket. It was rounded and smooth, a stone from the river, a little large than the palm of his hand, with bands of black and white running all over it, each block of color separated by a thin silver line. “An anchor stone.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you planned this.” Stiles grumbled, pointing to the entrance of the cave. “When this, hmm, wolf returns, I will cast a spell of parting, and you will bind the spirit to the anchor stone. The woman will be freed, though confused.”

Theodric nodded wordlessly, and stood against the rock, looking out into the increasingly stormy day, snow spinning in the violent air, the trees beyond lost to the biting blizzard.

 

The darach stiffened as the sudden crunch of snow outside the cave roused him from the thoughts that had stepped in to fill the silence between him and Stiles. He darted a quick look at the druid and smirked when he saw the bloody rune carved into his palm, the rock in front of him already covered in the parting spell, juniper berries smashed against it, and Aed’s name invoked. There was an awkward squelch and pop as the sand wolf entered the cave and became a person again. _Uh oh._ Theodric averted his eyes when the naked young woman walked past him, appearing not to notice their presence. She was covered in dirt and wet snow, blood stains along her mouth and chin, as well as flecks across her wrists and legs. The darach nodded once at Stiles and raised the anchor stone up in time to hear the druid cast the spell.

“Spirit of evil!” Stiles cried out, glaring at the woman as she turned, her eyes burning an unnatural blue. “I part you from this living flesh and bone, and cast you back to the Otherworld! _Fág!_ ”

A loud growl ripped from the young woman’s throat, but as she launched herself towards the druid, he slammed the palm of his hand into the symbol on the rock and there was a sound of screeching iron. The naked woman fell forward onto the ground and a dark, spectral shape with large pointed ears and glowing blue eyes hung in the air, bearing down on the druid.

“No!” Theodric cried out, thrusting the anchor stone towards the spirit. “You are mine!” There was a sudden, keening scream and he watched with gleeful fascination as the spirit was pulled into the stone, the sound cutting off once the sand wolf had been imprisoned. The anchor stone was heavy in his hands and he glanced at Stiles, grinning triumphantly. “It’s done, we have the spirit!”

“Good.” Stiles nodded and used his stave to support himself, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. The druid moved closer to the panting girl, still face down on the ground, hair covering her face. “It’s over, you are safe now. You-oof!” He reeled backwards, arms flailing when she sprang up, punching him in the face, and sprinting towards the mouth of the cave. “Theodric!”

“Let her leave.” The darach was staring at the anchor stone, watching the silver lines glisten. “I have what I came for.” He was forced to look away when Stiles’ stave pushed his arm down, and he snarled irritably. “What?”

“I don’t know why I expected kindness from a darach.” Stiles was glaring at him. “I thought perhaps things had changed after Samhain, that maybe _you_ had changed. But I see you’re still as selfish as ever. Roscoe!” The big, blue-tinged bear appeared with a roar and Stiles pointed into the blizzard. “Find that girl!” Roscoe snorted and galloped out of the cave, crashing through the snow.

“Stiles, it’s not that I don’t…” Theodric found his eyes drifting back to the stone and hurriedly put it into the fire pit, feeling better as he stepped away. “Argh! The spirit is stronger than I thought. I’ll help you find her.” The darach concentrated, unused to calling spectral animals to him. _They usually just appear. Come on, come to me. Ah!_ He opened his eyes and the brightly colored wolf cub from the day before was sitting on his feet, looking at him with intelligent eyes. “Do you smell a girl? She was just here.”

“Woof!” 

“Good, very well, see if you can find her and lead her back to the roundhouse.” Theodric instructed, glancing at Stiles to see him nod slowly. The wolf cub looked between them and nodded, padding off into the blizzard. “See, Stiles? I’m not as heartless as you think.”

“We’ll need to ward and encircle that anchor stone tomorrow.” The druid replied after a moment of silent consideration. He stuffed herbs into a binding and wound the cloth around his palm. “But perhaps you have some wisdom too. The spirit creatures have a better chance at finding her than we do. We should return to the roundhouse.”

“The blizzard will be bad, and she is just a person now.” Theodric helped Stiles walk to the mouth of the cave, both of them pulling their cloaks over their mouths. “If they have not found her by morning, it will be a body we will be searching for.”

“I fear that is true.” Stiles muttered, but turned and began the slow journey back to Theodric’s home. “It is in the gods’ hands now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lore and Gaelic elements used in this chapter for those interested:
> 
> Abhartach: Irish for dwarf, according to legend, the abhartach is a magical creature of great wickedness that terrorized the land around him, and could rise from the grave multiple times. In some versions, the abhartach rises to drink the blood of his victims.
> 
> Cernunnos: Celtic god of animals.
> 
> Treoir dúinn: Guide us!
> 
> Fág!: Leave!


	3. Alban Arthuan

The fire had been reduced to embers when they returned from the forest, but as Stiles looked into it now, the flames leapt and burned in long orange and yellow tongues. He held his hands out to warm them, slowly flexing his fingers and watching as the fire danced in sympathetic shapes. “Are you nearly ready, Theodric?” Stiles called over his shoulder, gaze captivated by the blaze.

“There is bread and meat next to you,” The darach replied, grunting as he forced the uncooperative pine tree into the center of his roundhouse. “Help yourself.”

“I’m not sure what rituals you’ve been doing, but tradition is very clear.” Stiles stood up, looking over at him. “We do not eat until the gods have been presented with their offerings.”

“Hmm.”

“It looks well.” He reached out and touched the bristly pines, nodding approvingly. “Although I don’t know why you don’t just use evergreen branches like the rest of us.”

“A full tree grants a more powerful blessing.” Theodric explained, shrugging off his black robe and wiping a hand across his brow. “Phew. I’ve always done this alone since my exile; I need more power than you do, Stiles.”

“What for, I wonder?” The druid muttered to himself, casting his eyes over Theodric’s smooth, slightly glistening, body. “We will do it your way however, as I am your guest.”

“Good.” He nodded and grabbed another robe, pulling it over his head, not noticing Stiles’ hungry look. “Did you prepare the branches before you left?”

“No.” Stiles pulled his eyes away and walked over to his travel sack. “It slipped my mind to tell you, but I’ve taken an acolyte; the young man who washed up on the coast last summer, you remember?”

“With the strange name?” Theodric frowned and saw Stiles glare at him. “Of course, look who I’m speaking to.”

“He’s called Yeshua, says he comes from a land far to the south, across the ocean and countless days of travel over land and mountain.” Stiles pulled out a leather pouch and undid the strings binding it together. “I do not of where he speaks, but his grasp of our language was quick, his mind is fast, and his devotion to our gods genuine. He is also kind and generous, nurturing to the sick, helpful to the old, and playful to young; he will make a fine druid.”

“Hmm.” Theodric glared at the tree. “Those are all positive traits. What happens when Yeshua is called upon to make a sacrifice and sate the appetites of ravenous gods?”

“He has time to learn, performing the rites of Alban Arthuan is enough for now.” Stiles finished undoing the leather thongs around the pouch and turned to show Theodric what he was holding. “Korey made these icons for us; hammered iron, though one shines in the firelight, and the other in daylight.”

“Oh?” Theodric came over to him and touched the beaten patterns. “Holly and mistletoe. Appropriate.” He took the one Stiles offered and laid it on a sturdy branch, raising his hands. “Great and powerful Lugh, guide the hands of the creator Korey and let him always strike true!”

Stiles joined him, placing his own ornament on the branch, spreading his arms wide. “Glorious Lugh, god of craftsmen, protect our blacksmith Korey from the fires of the forge, and grant him the strength of your arms!” The druid nodded at Theodric and together they whispered the same word.

“ _Dóigh!_ ”

The tree erupted into spectral fire; tall white and amber flames licking up through it, though none of the branches burned. Korey’s gifts to them twinkled in the light, one dark and gleaming, the other, bright and burnished. The flames died down a moment later, before vanishing entirely, and Stiles handed a pouch of colored stones to Theodric. “A gift from a druid to a darach, reminding him that even worshippers of Aed must honor Donn.”

“My gratitude,” Theodric bowed stiffly, remembering the ritual, the first that Dictone had taught them as acolytes. _Each of us were to give the other a token of affection and kinship, remembering always that nature and the gods bind us together in a way the others will never understand._ He reached into the folds of his robe and took out a polished stone dagger. “A gift from a darach to a druid, reminding him that even those who walk in the light gain their power from the shedding of blood.”

“My gratitude.” Stiles returned his bow, a smile hovering around his lips, and they both placed their gifts on the lower branches of the tree to be blessed by their gods.

 

Theodric sighed and sat down into the chair by the fire, looking at the straining boughs of the pine; colored trinkets and bright stones, offerings of food and iron, all strung about the tree. The invocations had been made and the gods blessed twice over by druid and darach, the strength of their benediction seeping into his bones. It was the only occasion where all the gods were honored at once and Theodric felt the toll of trying to ensure they were pleased. He looked over at Stiles, seeing his hands shake uncontrollably before the druid clenched them. “If you had told me that you had not recovered from freeing the girl from the curse, I would have done more of the ritual myself.”

“The gods must be honored, Theodric.” Stiles replied firmly, staring at his hands. “Once we’ve eaten, I’ll recover much of my strength. But you’re right, the spell of parting was more draining than I thought. I wonder if our animals will find her.”

“It’s been a long time since dusk.” Theodric replied with a shrug, turning towards the walls of the roundhouse, the fury of the storm outside hurling itself against the wattle and daub. “If the freezing winds do not get her, then the wolves will.”

“I wish we could do more.”

“We freed her from the curse, saved countless lives of animal and person.” The darach smiled at him. “It was she who attacked you and ran into the blizzard, perhaps she thought we were slavers from the northern tribes?”

“Perhaps.” Stiles nodded, picking up a goblet of mead and handing Theodric a farl of bread. “I feel as though we’ve doomed one innocent to save all the other ones. Maybe I just need to take my mind off it.” He looked meaningfully at Theodric, but to his surprise, the darach shifted uncomfortably instead of offering his usual flirty grin. “What?”

“Nothing, if you want to…join, I won’t object.”

“Object?” Stiles arched a brow. “But you don’t particularly want to?”

“Um, it’s not…well,” Theodric shifted around uncomfortably, picking at the haunch of venison he had cooked earlier, the smell of herbs and hot meat wafting into his nose. “I won’t see you again until Imbolc, and I…hmm.”

“You want someone more reliable.” Stiles nodded, tearing a chunk of bread from his farl and filling the interior with roasted strips of wild boar. He grinned suddenly, looking at the rack of cooking meat sitting on the hearth in front of them. “You want the hunter!”

“I…yes.” Theodric looked at him defiantly. “He comes often-”

“I bet!”

“That wasn’t what I meant! But, actually, yes.” The darach blushed furiously, shaking his head. “He likes me, brings me what I need, and I’ve helped him; guided his hunts, treated his, and his village’s wounds. When the coughing sickness swept through here, he came to me for help, a darach I may be, but the mountain clans have always respected us more. They know the fear of the darkness.”

“I won’t stand in your way.” Stiles smiled happily at him. “I’ve never seen you so passionate before. But tell me, what is this young man’s name, so I don’t have to call him _the hunter_ all the time?”

“He is called Iordáin.”

“A strong name, but what does his family think of your relationship?” Stiles paused between mouthfuls to gulp down some mead, ignoring Theodric’s arched brows as it spilled down his chin. “Mpfh!”

“I dine on venison and wild boar almost every day, Stiles,” Theodric shook his head in mock sorrow. “I’m guessing Scotti hogs all the good stuff, huh? Just needs to keep cramming that meat deep inside him! But, um, no, Iordáin is all that’s left of his family; parents killed in the last clan war, and his older sister mauled by a wolf during the Red Rains.”

“Ah.” Stiles coughed, having nearly choked after the darach’s comment about Scotti. “The Red Rains; every wolf went mad with rage and fury because of the sacrilege performed by the Halh clan.”

“Dark days.” Theodric touched the pouch of colored beads, now beside him. “But the gods were sated in blood and flesh, even if the wolves took some from every village and clan. That means, at least, Iordáin is free to decide who gets his affection, and is not pressured by clan or family to take a wife and start a family.”

“He may choose you during the Beltane festival!” Stiles grinned at him, but Theodric scowled and shook his head.

“We are druids-a darach-we do not form families like the others.” He sighed, staring into his goblet. “I may get temporary happiness and pleasure from Iordáin’s company, I may even feel the stirrings of a deeper attachment and affection for him, but if Donn calls upon me, or if you require my help, then…” Theodric trailed off, gesturing vaguely. The silence that followed was broken by the tearing of meat from the rack and gulping of mead. Finally, the darach smiled at Stiles. “Do you not feel the same way about Korey?”

“We are friends, yes, but we have no special relationship beyond that.” Stiles gazed into the fire, chin resting on his clenched fist. “What occurred at Samhain was…delicious, but it should not have happened. The clan must see me as the keeper of laws, their conduit to the gods, and not face down with my ass in the air!”

“I wouldn’t have thought Scotti to object?”

“He doesn’t.” Stiles glanced at him. “But the…man is obsessed with fertility, and large endowments, and growing the clan.” Theodric remained silent even as their eyes met over the obvious pause. “I am the one who tells them when to plant the fields and which animals are ripe for bearing young, I tell them how many deer to take, and teach what plants can be eaten from the forest. I am clan leader in all but name!”

“I know.”

“But,” Stiles’ voice returned to normal, the sudden fire leaving it. “I am a druid, that is my role, and for all his faults and single-mindedness, Scotti inspires and is greatly respected as chieftain. I do not want to take it from him.”

“We serve a higher calling.” Theodric smiled, turning to look at the elaborately decorated tree. “Don’t you agree?”

“Of course.” Stiles murmured, and the two of them fell silent, feeling the presence of the gods sweep through the room, each taking the spirit of the offering left for them on the pine.

 

The snow had finally stopped by the time the first rays of sun pushed through the heavy cloud to illuminate the flawless drifts of pure, powdery whiteness. Stiles and Theodric stood at the entrance to the roundhouse, silently waiting for Roscoe to make his way to them. The colorful wolf cub was running along the top of the snow, glancing occasionally at his companion as if to question his sanity, but the spectral bear ignored him and crashed joyously through the ice and snow.

“Where did you find him?” Stiles leaned into Theodric, flicking his eyes at the now red and violet hued wolf. “The Otherworld?”

“They just come to me.” The darach shrugged. “I’m not sure why, but that one has a sense of humour-” He cut himself off, wincing. “Um, for a, err, animal that doesn’t, err talk…at all, um.”

“Maybe you should spend _more_ time with the hunter?” Stiles suggested, quirking his brows when Theodric reddened. 

“Well, at least I don’t name the spirits I draw upon!”

“Hmm.” Stiles was about to respond when Theodric nudged him in the ribs, pointing at the glowing, blue bear.

“Wait, look there, on Roscoe’s back! They found the girl!”

“Aed be praised!” Stiles whispered, casting his eye over her as the group got closer. She was lying face down on Roscoe’s broad back, unmoving, her skin pale and white, the edges of her fingers and toes already showing signs of frostbite. “Bring her quickly!” Stiles commanded, turning to Theodric. “Fetch the strongest firewater you have, and clear a space by the fire!” The darach nodded and disappeared inside, just as Roscoe and the wolf cub arrived. Stiles pulled his cloak from his shoulders and bundled the girl in it, tilting his head over her mouth, nodding when he felt sparse breath on his cheek. “She’s alive, though barely.”

 

Theodric looked up and gestured for Stiles to bring the girl over to the hearth, the fire burning intensely after he had stoked the charcoal and added more logs. “Lay her down. The firewater is beside you. Do you need anything else?”

“Nothing.” Stiles shook his head, gesturing for the spectral animals to come closer, smiling slightly when Roscoe faded more into the Otherworld in order to avoid knocking over Theodric’s furniture. The large bear sat down next to the wolf cub and looked expectantly at him. “Her life-force ebbs and flows between this world and the next. She is holding on tight, and together we will pull her back. Concentrate, my friends, feel her life around us.” 

Stiles whispered a word Theodric didn’t recognise, but he felt a jolt rush through him and put his hands out over the girl’s covered body. A strange yellow light appeared, twisting and woven, undulating under their hands. He looked at the druid, seeing Stiles’ eyes closed and brows furrowed. “You have my power, if you need it.”

“Thank you.” The druid whispered, flexing his fingers up and down slowly, the cords of yellow light forming a rough rectangle between the men and the animals. “This is the extent of her essence. It has damaged by the curse, her injuries are otherwise healed, but her mind…” One hand clenched over the young woman’s head and blue light spilled forth, fractured ropes splaying around his hand. “Broken, confused. She may not recover... I have done all I can. Wake up, now.” Stiles waved his hand in a circle over her face and the woman’s eyes snapped open. 

Dark brown orbs regarded them suspiciously, but she accepted the offered goblet of firewater, drinking it down quickly, and then spluttered, her eyes watering.

“My name is Stiles, you are safe now.” The druid remained kneeling, helping her into a sitting position, her skin returning to a normal color, the welts on her toes and fingers healed. “What are you called?”

“Ma…Mal…Malla…”

Theodric glanced at Stiles, “The curse?”

“Yes.” He sighed as she looked at them and turned slowly to stare at the brightly colored wolf cub and the large, ghostly blue bear sitting next to her. “The northern tribes have unusual naming customs, however, so-”

“I know.” Theodric looked at him pointedly. “I think ‘Stiles’ was their most unusual choice yet.”

“It has its meaning.” Stiles replied evasively, turning back to the young woman. “Malla? We’ll go with that for now. Do you know where you are? You were running, were you a slave?”

She grunted, pointing down and then gestured around her head. “D…the…Halh…grr!” Malla growled, clearly annoyed with herself, but the druid met her eyes.

“Be still, your words will return. Here, eat this.” He handed her a roasted leg of meat and smirked as she snatched it from his hand and tore into it. Stiles stood, nodding for Theodric to join him away from the woman, near the wall of darach writing. “You heard what she said? Halh?”

“The Red Rains.” Theodric nodded, glancing at a spell behind him. “When was the last time you tried divination? What did the portents tell you?”

“War is coming, as you said, though when and where, I do not know.” Stiles admitted, watching Malla eat. “The gods spoke through me five days past, Yeshua observed and recorded.”

“You never said?”

“It wasn’t Aed, but The Dagda.” He swallowed, “The message was about more than war, it said that great uncertainty is coming, marked by the arrival of the wolf who is not a wolf, fleeing from the river of red, and pursued by werewolves both feral and tame. It is they who will war with each other, and drag the clans down with them.”

“You think this is the ‘wolf who is not a wolf’?” Theodric asked, digesting Stiles’ words. “If she comes from the Halh clan, then perhaps, but-”

“Their sacrilege combined feral and tame werewolves.” Stiles broke in, “You must have heard the stories? They can walk on four legs and two; have the savagery of the beast, and the cunning minds of people!”

“Stories and prophesies, myths and half-truths.” The darach gripped Stiles’ shoulders tight, looking into his eyes. “The Dagda sees all of time at once, Stiles, it may not be our time; she may just be a runaway slave. Our wards are strong, our allies stronger, if the Halh werewolves come searching for war, we will drive them from our lands, just like we’ve driven the northern clans back before.”

“Yes,” Stiles nodded, feeling the conviction passing through him from Theodric’s eyes. “You’re right. We must wait for more definitive signs, and I will speak to Scotti about it. He is not ready for a war.”

“Hmm.” Theodric sighed with relief and turned to look at Malla after a sudden crack. He pulled a face, watching her break open the now-polished animal bone to get at the marrow inside. “I think she has been cursed for too long.”

“I will bring her back to the clan, perhaps by the time Imbolc has arrived, she will have regained her manners!” Stiles grinned and hugged Theodric fondly. “Thank you, my friend.”

 

The snow was up to their waists as Stiles finished his farewells to Theodric, the young woman sitting on Roscoe’s back. He took up his stave and prepared to walk beside her. “I will see you when the first signs of the new season are on us, Theodric; the melting of the snows and the swelling of sheep’s bellies!” 

“I’m already looking forward to it, Stiles!” Theodric called out, standing in the leeward side of the roundhouse. “With fair weather and safe travel, you should reach the clan’s village by nightfall.”

“My gratitude.” He bobbed his head and set off into the snow-covered landscape, Roscoe padding softly beside him. Stiles glanced at the silent woman, “Well, Malla-”

“Mal-ee-a.” She replied, looking at him and pointing at herself. “Mal-ee-a.”

“Malia?” The druid grinned. “Malia. Well, _Malia_ , in a few short hours, we’ll be back in the safety of my clan’s village; the women will be fluttering around you, a feast will be held, Scotti will probably take an interest, and I’ll make sure he leaves you alone for now. Theodric may be right that you simply are an escaped slave from the Halh clan, but if you are not, then I have much work to do to prepare my clan for war…”

 

Theodric smiled softly to himself as he stared at the two decorations Korey had made for him and Stiles, the iron still glimmering and glistening as it had the night before. He started when there was a noise outside and the sound of someone clearing their throat. The darach smiled to himself at the familiar expression, and called out. “You may enter!”

“Apologies, master druid,” The muscular man returned Theodric’s smirk, placing his bow and quiver down, and came to a stop in front of him. He bowed his head slightly, taller than Theodric, before his bright, green eyes matched the darach’s. “I saw your visitors leave, and thought you might be lonely.”

“Well, Iordáin, the night will draw in soon, and it is _such_ a long way to get back to your village,” Theodric couldn’t stop smiling as Iordáin advanced and pulled him into a strong embrace, the rest of his words mumbled into the hunter’s smooth, warm skin. “Better that you stay here with me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title, Alban Arthuan, refers to the Celtic traditions of worship around the Winter Solstice, many of which were Christianized, and survive to this day. These include the bringing of evergreen plants; holly, ivy, mistletoe, and pine/fir trees into our homes. The giving of gifts comes from the historical ritual of placing offerings on such trees or around the branches to appease the gods and bring good fortune. It’s been very interesting to research the history of Christmas as we know it, and to explore it through the characters of Teen Wolf! 
> 
> In addition, I thought a lot about whether I wanted there to be smut in this particular story in the series, but I decided that I’d keep it plot focused and leave the smut for my other seasonal story, _Jackson’s Beach House_ ; which features Stiles, but not Theo. The next update for this series will be in February and that will likely have Korey-related smut. 
> 
> This chapter's names and lore: 
> 
> Yeshua: the ancient version of Joshua, or Josh the season 5 chimera. Yeshua is the Hebrew name, and its English spelling is “Joshua.”
> 
> Lugh: Celtic god of skill, crafts, the arts, and a few other areas. Often depicted as a youthful warrior hero.
> 
> Dóigh!: Gaelic for "Burn!"
> 
> Iordáin: The Irish version of "Jordan" Deputy Parrish didn't quite translate, lol!
> 
> Halh: The Old English surname for Hale, meaning a nook, hollow, or recess.
> 
> The Dagda: god of fertility, agriculture, manliness and strength, magic, druidry, wisdom, with control over life and death, weather, crops, time, and the seasons.

**Author's Note:**

> For those interested;
> 
> Dian Cécht is the Celtic god of healing, and Belenus is one of the most influential Celtic gods; that of the sun.
> 
> Stiles uses two Irish/Gaelige phrases to control Roscoe the spectral bear, as follows:
> 
> Dífhostú: "Awaken"  
> Stad: "Stop"


End file.
